


Subauditum

by commoncomitatus



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/pseuds/commoncomitatus
Summary: Early S2, some time post-2x03.  Two and Nyx get to know each other.  Or not.





	Subauditum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alamorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/gifts).



—

“You’re like a machine.”

Two laughs. It’s closer to the truth than Nyx probably realises, but she doesn’t say so. Couldn’t say so, even if she wanted to. Which…

Well, yeah, she would. Maybe. If she could.

But she can’t. So she won’t.

Their relationship might be off to a flying start, all things considered, but the whole nanite thing still has issues — _legal_ issues, light-years out of her hands — and the rest of the crew would never forgive her if she got herself handed over to the GA or Dwarf Star or whoever else by running her mouth just a little too freely. She’s mostly sure Nyx is trustworthy, but…

Well. Who can be sure in these troubled times?

Besides, a little caution never hurt anyone, and too little sure as hell can. Two might be the biggest advocate of Five’s current ‘let’s make friends with the new guys’ kick but there’s a limit. Has to be, whether she wants it or not.

They’re in the training room, her and Nyx, sparring. It’s late, the ship is quiet, they’re both a little wired and too awake and… well, why the hell not?

Four is usually the go-to guy for most of the crew when they want to let off steam or learn some new tricks, but he’s been in a solitary mood ever since the Android’s little revelation about their lost memories. Which makes sense, really. It’s not every day you learn that you can get back the memories you thought you’d lost, and Two gets that the choice might not be as easy for the others as it is for her.

It’s tough for Four, especially: he always had the most to lose by staying in the dark.

But yeah, it’s as easy as sinning for her. Judging by the crap she’s already learned about her past, she’s a whole lot better off remembering as little of that shitfest as possible.

‘Like a machine,’ Nyx says.

Boy, she has no idea.

Two looks at her, shows all her teeth, and says, “I could say the same for you.”

It’s not completely evasive; it’s the truth as well. Nyx might not have Two’s raw power, but she’s faster and more intuitive than… well, pretty much anyone Two has ever fought. Anyone except the Android, at the least, and that’s a whole lot of questions in one powerhouse package.

It’s worrying, for one. But it’s also kind of…

 _Something_.

Invigorating, maybe? Not that she’d say so.

Nyx just shrugs. Impassive, steady. It’s hard to tell whether she’s taking it as a compliment or a challenge.

“I suppose I am, in a way.” She doesn’t elucidate, not that Two really expected her to. “That scare you?”

“Hell, no.” And it doesn’t. Nyx might have secrets, but so does Two. She’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if she threw a tantrum about it. “It’s good, working with someone who can actually hold her own. Four gets tired way too fast.”

Nyx snorts. “And Three has a glass jaw.”

That’s true. Two concedes it with a wry grin. “He’s not much of a fighter,” she admits. “Much as he likes to pretend he is.”

“Not much of a thinker either.” Her eyes darken, burn hot, like a threat or maybe an challenge. “But hell, he must do _something_ well, for you to keep him around this long.”

It’s a question. And not a subtle one, either.

Two chuckles. _I see you,_ she thinks, and feels her belly grow warm.

“Yeah,” she says. “He has his uses.”

“I’ll _bet_.”

She doesn’t say anything more, and her face is unreadable. She’s standing there, legs apart, arms braced in front of her, like she’s waiting for Two to come at her again. She does that a lot, Two has noticed, holds out for her opponent to make the first move then uses their strength or momentum against them. It’s a good strategy, especially for someone as light and fast as Nyx, but without nanites…

It shouldn’t be as effective as it is. At least, not as _often_ as it is. Two would have to be a bigger idiot than Three not to wonder.

And she does. She thinks about it for a second or two. Then slowly, carefully, she lowers her arms. She won’t go at her again just yet, not without trying to wring the secret out of her.

“So,” she says. Lazy, casual, like it doesn’t make a difference either way. Like all their lives aren’t on the line. “What’s your story?”

Nyx smiles, all sweetness and innocence with just a hint of discomfort. It’s so subtle that someone else — someone _normal_ — probably wouldn’t catch it. But Two is not someone normal, and she notices.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Nyx says.

Offended? Amused? Two really can’t tell.

“Oh, _please_.” She leans back, lets her body language make it clear that this isn’t an interrogation. There’s no danger here, hopefully not for either one of them. “It’s like you see every move coming from a mile away. Like I’m moving in slow-motion, or something.”

“Or something.”

“Mm.”

Nyx chuckles. Definitely not offended, then. Good to know.

“Could say the same thing about you,” she says, throwing Two’s own deflection back at her. “I’ve fought a lot of people. A _lot_ of people. Never met someone as small as you who packed that much of a punch. You part android or something?”

“Or something.”

Well, why should Nyx be the only one who use someone else’s words as a weapon? The look on her face, the challenge and the charm, feels too damn good.

It’s been far too long since Two had the chance to breathe like this, since she got to sit back and relax, enjoy herself, blow off some steam with a little conversation and a little bloodshed. Spontaneous violence might be a nightmarish idea to Five or Six, but Four and Three would definitely appreciate their choice of recreational activity. To each their own, and Two has always preferred to face her problems head-on, with her fists clenched.

“One more round?” Nyx says, eyes bright, like she’s reading her mind.

One day, maybe she’ll explain how she does that. For now…

For now, Two bares her teeth and grins wider than she has in months.

“Bring it on.”

*

Later — not just one round later — they’re both exhausted.

It’s a new thing for Two, feeling worked over and worn out from a session like this, feeling the ache in her muscles for more than just a split-second.

Not _much_ more, obviously. The nanites are too quick for that, even when she’s laid out flat. But hey, the pounding in her veins, the ache in her bones… even if it only lasts a moment, it’s something. And it’s _good_.

She says as much, wiping the sweat off her brow with a towel, then tossing it at Nyx. “You could be dangerous.”

“No ‘could be’ about it,” Nyx says. “I _am_ dangerous. If you were anyone else, you’d be on the floor by now. Begging for mercy, if you had enough breath.”

It’s not a threat. She’s just bragging.

Two studies her for a long moment. Longer than the longer-than-usual time it takes for her nanites to catch up with the workout, to bleed the sweat and exertion out of her body and leave her hungry for more. She’s not used to feeling it like this, and for about half a second she worries if maybe it’s not _Nyx_ after all, if maybe it’s the nanites, if maybe it’s _her_ …

But then Nyx flashes that grin of hers, smug and hot, and Two’s worries sputter out like a burnt-out conduit.

“Don’t get smug,” she says, shaking it off. “Call it a draw.”

“Like hell.”

That’s predictable. She said the same thing on Hyperion-8. Two might not be a genius, but she doesn’t need to be one to know that Nyx is a woman who won’t quit. They’ve known each other five minutes, and it’s already painfully obvious that she’ll hurl herself into an early grave rather than admit she can’t win something.

Nyx doesn’t have nanites. Two is at least eighty per cent sure of that. But she looks hungry too, like maybe those few seconds were all she needed to recover as well. Like maybe she’s getting her strength from some place more than human too, some place Two can’t see. Not nanites but… _something_.

It should unnerve her. She knows that. She’s in charge — the ‘boss lady’, as Three insists on calling her — and their lives are in her hands every day. This _something_ , this intangible variable that makes Nyx more than human… it should set off klaxons inside her head, should make her start to wonder what the hell she’s welcomed onto her ship.

Oh, but it doesn’t.

Instead, it makes her move in closer. And _closer_. And…

“You’re gonna have a hell of a shiner in the morning,” she says.

And she touches Nyx’s face, her cheek, below her eye.

Nyx sucks in her breath through her teeth. Pain flares behind her eyes, tightens her shoulders for a beat or two, but she doesn’t pull away. She’s proud of her injuries, wears them like a badge of honour, a monument to successes and failures alike.

Two wonders what that’s like, how it feels to have an injury that doesn’t disappear in a matter of seconds, how it feels to wear her mistakes and her triumphs on her body, to look at them and learn from them. For her part, she hardly even remembers where Nyx’s fists and feet caught her, what they did to make her breathless. It all becomes a careless blur when any pain she feels is washed away by the nanites almost before her brain registers it.

It must be strange, she thinks, still feeling it minutes or hours or days later.

Nyx will be feeling this one for a while. She’ll learn, and then adapt. Two suspects she’ll be a different fighter then next time they spar.

“You know,” Nyx says, “I took the hit on purpose.”

Two chuckles, wry and unsurprised. “I figured as much.”

She’s curious, though, and it must show on her face because Nyx goes on, “It was a distraction. A feint. I needed all your attention on my face, so I could…”

 _Ah_.

Two remembers now. A kick to the ribs, impossibly fast and impossibly powerful. It left her breathless, winded for almost three full seconds, longer than she’s felt it for a long time. It’s not often someone catches her so much by surprise that even the nanites need a moment to recover themselves, but Nyx managed it.

More than once, now that she thinks about it. And that is a serious, _serious_ achievement.

Nyx grins. She can see probably see the moment flashing behind Two’s eyes, the echo of hurt for only as long as the memory lasts. Well, let her revel in it; even Two can’t deny it was well earned.

“Don’t get cocky,” she says, showing her own teeth. “I don’t bruise as easily as you. If you want to leave a mark, you picked the wrong girl to spar.”

Nyx rolls her eyes. She thinks it’s bravado, Two can tell, and maybe she gets a little bit more pleasure than she should in shutting down that delusion, in flaunting the part of her that’s closer to the Android than her crew, the part that’s not quite human. It’s been a while since she felt that too, like the thing that makes her different isn’t a burden but a benefit. She knows it, but it’s so damn hard sometimes to feel that way.

It’s nice, hiding _what_ she is without shying away from _who_ she is. She hasn’t always been able to strike that balance. It’s new, and six kinds of thrilling.

She lifts the hem of her top, showing off the ribs that might have been black and blue maybe two or three minutes ago. They’re as good as new now, of course, the nanites having done their job long ago, and the already-distant memory of pain is more than worth it for the stunned look on Nyx’s face.

“You really _are_ part android,” Nyx breathes.

“Nah.” It wouldn’t be too much of a lie, not really, letting her believe that, but she deserves some kind of honesty, even if it’s not enough. Two won’t be labelled a liar. “I just heal fast.”

“No kidding.” She whistles, still eyeing the lineless space between Two’s ribs. Curious. Fascinated. A little turned on. “Hot _damn_.”

Two lets her stare for a moment. And another. And another.

“I’d tell you my secret,” she says. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

It’s truer than she wants it to be, and that’s a strange comfort.

She hates being dishonest. She hates that it comes so easily to her, so naturally, hates that she barely even has to think about it any more. It’s who she is, or at least who she was — _Portia Lin_ — and apparently even a total memory wipe isn’t enough to burn out some old habits. It’s saved her life more times than she can count. But still…

Still, she _wants_.

Nyx is like her. Hers is a different kind of different, but it’s close enough that Two feels the resonance right down to her bones. She’s more than human, or at least more than _normal_ , and it has been so damn long since Two met someone like that.

She wants to talk about it openly, wants to sit down over hot chocolate or whatever other crap Five smuggled on board during their latest pit-stop. She wants to cut loose, let her hair down for once and really talk it out with someone who understands exactly what it’s like to be a freak.

“So,” Nyx says.

It’s like she’s reading her mind again, like she can see all the bullshit inside Two’s head without her needing to say a word, like she knows the exact second someone has to break the silence. It’s eerie, and comforting.

“So what?” Two counters, and yeah, she probably sounds just as grateful as she feels.

Nyx has an odd look on her face now. Sad and satisfied at the same time, like maybe she feels a little of the same longing Two does, like maybe it’s enough for her, having someone to feel that way about. Like it’s enough of an intimacy just to feel the same thing at the same time, to be here together, the two of them both wanting to lay themselves open but both knowing they can’t. Like that’s all she needs, the understanding, even if she knows it’ll never come with drinks and small-talk.

“So,” Nyx says again. “You gonna get me an ice pack or just stand around and gloat?”

“What? I can’t do both?”

“Not if you want to live.”

And she laughs.

And Two can’t help it: she laughs too.

*

They retire to Nyx’s quarters, ice pack and all.

Nyx sits on the bed, holding the thing to her bruised cheek, and Two leans against the wall and gloats.

“See?” she says. “I can do both.”

“You’re an ass,” Nyx says, rolling her eyes.

Two doesn’t miss the way it makes her wince. “I’m sure Devon could’ve given you something more effective,” she says.

Nyx stiffens.

“Oh, I’ll _bet_ he could.”

She doesn’t elucidate, but her eyes darken a little, a flash of heat like a warning that lasts about half a second and then dissolves. Two frowns; for the first time since they started pummelling each other, she worries.

“Something I should know?”

Nyx doesn’t quite hesitate. But when she relaxes it’s just a little forced. “No, sir.” She steadies herself, then shrugs. “I’m not really the asking-for-help type, you know?”

Two nods, hopes that’s really all it is. “I get that,” she says softly.

“Yeah? Guess it’s easy, not needing help when you heal at FTL.”

Well, she walked right into that one, didn’t she?

“There’s more than one kind of help,” Two says, just a little sharper than it has any right to be. “It’s not all concussions and hot chocolate or sparring in the middle of the night with sticks and swords. Sometimes it’s…”

But she stops.

_Sometimes it’s coming out of stasis with no idea who or what you are. Sometimes it’s learning how to put your life in a stranger’s hands and not snatching it straight back. Sometimes it’s waking up in the morning, realising that this bunch of idiots has become your family, and not having the faintest idea how to deal with that._

She has no idea how the hell she could even start to say all that. Nyx might be brilliant, but there are some things you’ll never truly understand until you’ve been there and got your hands bloody.

Two keeps it to herself. A secret by choice this time.

Nyx lowers the ice pack, lets it sit in her lap. She looks down at it for a moment, then up at Two, then down again, settling on nothing in particular. For a long time, she’s very quiet. Two wonders what she’s thinking, whether she feels rejected or whether she’s just musing on her own definition of ‘help’. Either way, there’s a shift in the air that touches them both.

“Sorry,” Two says, without much sincerity. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

Nyx’s lips quirk. Almost a grin, but not quite. It’s a start.

“Didn’t realise there was a _mood_ to kill,” she says, then sighs a little. “Nah, you didn’t kill it. Maybe roughed it up a little, but hey…” She shrugs. “It’ll have a hell of a shiner in the morning.”

Two chuckles. “At least it’ll be in good company.”

“Damn right.”

They’re both quiet now, for a couple of minutes. It’s a different kind of silence, though: still a little uneasy but also a little steadier. Soft but not too soft, indefinable, kind of like they are.

Two breaks it this time. She can’t stand too much silence for too long, and Nyx looks like she knows it. She won’t offer a reprieve this time: she’s got the look of a woman who wants to force Two’s hand just to prove she can. A woman like that can hold out for months at a time out of sheer stubbornness. And for all Two’s many failings in other departments, stubbornness is not one of them. She has more important things to worry about.

“You want me to go?” she asks, and catches the triumph in Nyx’s eye.

It’s not just an ice-breaker, the question. It’s an offer, an open door for a lot of different outcomes, a dozen different ways tonight can end. She watches Nyx run them all through her head; it seems to take less than a second. So fast that even Two nearly misses the moment it’s done.

“Nah,” Nyx says. “Talking to you is more fun than staring at the ceiling.” Her eyes are bright again, like the little mood-killer moment never happened at all. Points for that, Two thinks; no-one likes a party-pooper who dwells on the sad stuff. “Unless you got someplace else to be?”

She says it like she already knows the answer, like the whole evening has been building up to this, like she’s just been waiting for Two to see it too. Funny, how she always seems to be a step ahead of everyone. Impossibly fast, even in substanceless little things like this.

Two shrugs, answers the question straight. “Just my own ceiling,” she says. “Trust me, it’s not any prettier than yours.”

“Guess I’ll have to stop by some time,” Nyx says, quirking a brow. “See it for myself.”

Two swallows.

Nyx smirks, all sharp teeth and edges and…

And _want_ , and a very different kind of hunger to the kind they get from sparring.

(Or maybe the same kind. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.)

It’s short, though, the smirk, and it dies in a heartbeat, a huff, and a hiss of pain.

“Damn shiner.”

Two laughs. “Never figured you for a drama queen,” she quips. “I’m guessing you don’t get hurt much?”

“I don’t let myself get punched in the face very often, no.” There’s a difference there, subtle but very sharp. Two recognises it well. People like her — like _them_ , apparently — don’t tend to take a blow by accident. “I don’t usually need to. Been a long time since I was in a tight enough spot to fall back on a move like that. It’s…”

She trails off, looking almost embarrassed. Two smiles. This, she gets.

“Feels good, right?” she says. “Going toe-to-toe with someone who can surprise you? Who can _match_ you?”

The flicker of shame falls off Nyx’s face; the hunger flares up again.

“Yeah. Nothing like the rush of a good fight. A _real_ good fight, you know? Don’t get that often. Most people are too…” She studies her hands for a moment, like she’s grappling with a secret; Two watches, but doesn’t push. After a beat Nyx shrugs and finishes: “Too _predictable_.”

Two could say a lot about that, but she won’t.

“And I’m not?” she says instead.

“Not nearly as much as you should be. Someone your size, with your history. I’ve gone up against so many thugs just like you, it was like I knew you before I ever touched you. It was a snap, figuring you out.”

“I’m flattered.”

It’s sarcastic, but Nyx takes it very seriously.

“You should be. Because you surprise me. Throw all my expectations out the airlock. You surprised me on Hyperion-8, and you surprised me again today.” She smiles, just a touch softer than the sharp-toothed smirk of before. A little less primal, a little more friendly. “Feels good. Like you said.”

Two wets her lips, looks down at the bed. “For me too.”

She doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t say how or why, doesn’t mention how long it’s been since she matched wits with someone _like her_ , someone who relishes their particular brand of not-quite-normal.

Nyx is still new to the _Raza_. Two doesn’t know her whole story yet, but she doesn’t really need to: it won’t change the way she is. Everything she does, every word out of her mouth, she exudes confidence and clarity. She’s at home in her body, knows what she is — whatever the hell that is — and accepts it. Relishes it too, at least as often as not. Standing next to her, looking at her, Two can almost imagine she’ll feel the same way herself some day.

“Good,” Nyx says.

She’s looking down too. A little contemplative, a little—

 _Hungry_.

It’s definitely different this time. Still primal, but more…

Two’s breath catches in her throat. Her pulse quickens.

Nyx laughs. “Well,” she says, “ _now_ you’re predictable.”

“That a problem?”

Nyx takes a moment to consider that, draws out the time like a kind of torture. Her expression is warm and strong, her face radiant even through the shiner, and Two just stares and stares.

“Dunno,” Nyx says, at last. “But I can’t wait to find out.”

*

It’s definitely _not_ a problem.

They prove it more than once over the course of several hours, and…

Well. It’s a very different kind of workout. But just as satisfying.

Later, tangled in the sheets, Nyx says, “You’re more normal in bed.”

Two snorts. “Is that an insult?”

“No.” That may or may not be true, but if it is an insult it’s the good kind. _Normal_. It’s not exactly a problem Two has often. “You’re more predictable. More like everyone else.”

She breathes out slowly, lazily, and leaves it at that.

Two does not.

“I’m not the only one,” she says, heated in all the good ways. “You really want me to surprise you in bed, maybe you should try surprising me first.”

Nyx huffs a laugh. “So you’re planning on making this a habit, then?”

“Depends. Would _that_ surprise you?”

“Hell, no.” Still, she looks rather pleased. “I know _I’m_ good in bed.”

She’s not wrong. Two keeps that to herself, though.

They lie there for a while, relishing the post-coital euphoria. Neither one of them is much of a cuddler, but it’s nice to have a moment of just… _quiet_. Of being as much of themselves as they’re ever allowed to be, or as close to normal as they’re ever going to get.

For Nyx, that’s someone she can’t predict quite so easily; for Two, it’s something a little less solid. Maybe a moment of bliss with someone who doesn’t judge her, maybe the way Nyx’s eyes light up in those moments when she does surprise her. Maybe the way she says ‘you’re like a machine’ like it’s not the same as calling her _inhuman_ , like maybe there’s enough room for both: the kick-ass nanites and the woman who wears them.

One step ahead of her, like always, Nyx says, “It doesn’t bother me, you know.”

Two blinks. “Huh?”

“Your little secret. The ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ bullshit.” She shakes her head. “And you call _me_ dramatic.”

Two laughs. “You _are_ dramatic.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.” She nudges her in the ribs, elbow sharp in the place that should be bruised. She’s playful, and but not as curious as Two expects. “You’re thinking, ‘is she gonna take it personally? does she expect full disclosure now that she’s seen me naked?’.” She rolls her eyes, wincing again as the bruise stings. “So let me ease your pretty little mind: no. I don’t expect a damn thing. Hell, I’m not sure I’d want your dirty secrets even if you did open up and throw them out there. It’s a rush, not being able to figure out who or what the hell you are. Makes you more of a challenge.”

Two acknowledges with a hum, nestling in a little closer, for warmth. “I guess those are in short supply for you.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Her teeth are very white, her eyes dark and glittering. “I _really_ like a challenge.”

That makes things easier, somehow. Not just because Nyx doesn’t care, but because she’s like her, because she’s searching for the same things. Because when she says stuff like this, Two feels it in her bones.

She’s not the only one any more. She’s not the only one with more-than-human talents and probably a messy backstory to go with them. She’s not the only one struggling to keep those things to herself, a secret she never wanted. Nyx has hidden depths of her own, and plenty of reasons to keep trust at arm’s length. It feels…

It feels like _equality_. It feels like they’re the same. In spite of their differences, maybe a little bit _because_ of their differences.

Different powers, different people, and they come from very, very different places. But in this they’re so much alike that it doesn’t matter. They both want to be challenged, pushed, tested. For Nyx, maybe not knowing all of Two’s secrets is a kind of thrill. Maybe it makes it better for her, more real. And for Two…

Well. Maybe it’s a thrill for her too. Not that she’ll ever admit it; Nyx is smug enough already.

But yeah, it is a thrill. Not being the only secret-keeping not-quite-human on the ship. Not being the only one people stare at and think, ‘you’re like a machine’. Not being the only one who knows what it feels like to be that way.

It’s more than she had a month ago, even a week ago. Hell, for all she’s learned of Portia Lin, it might be more than she’s ever had. How the hell would she know?

She’ll never be normal. Even with her mind and her memories wiped clean, even when she had no idea what she was, she still couldn’t be normal. But damn, if it doesn’t feel like a kind of heaven, having someone to be not-normal with.

It’s _good_. With a little time and a little practice it could be even better.

And if it’s not? If it all goes to hell, like everything always does?

Well. At least they’ll have a damn good time first.

—


End file.
